


One Year in Paris

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-30
Updated: 2007-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-19 21:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12418182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Draco Malfoy's role in the Final Battle for the light side was over. His role in Ginny Weasley’s life, however, was far from it as one unnatural event threatens to overturn his perfectly well ordered existence and it was all the Weaslette’s fault. From Diagon Alley, to the romantic City of Light, and to the lush vineyards of Bordeaux, Draco ...





	1. Allegiances at an End

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

** ONE YEAR IN PARIS **

**Disclaimer:** HP, etc. etc. belongs to JKR. Story, mine. This will be the first and last disclaimer for the entire story. =)

**Summary:** His role in the war for the light side was over. His role in Ginny Weasley’s life, however, was far from it as one unnatural event threatens to overturn his perfectly well ordered existence and it was all the Weaslette’s fault. 

**********   


**PART ONE: DEVANT PARIS** _Chapter 1_

A new beginning had dawned upon them. A beginning where life, love, and happiness were finally staging a rebirth in Wizarding England. Lord Voldemort had been vanquished five years past and the rebuilding of lives displaced or lost was already back on their former prosperous and peaceful tracks.

Yet with the rebirth came the call of justice. Many dark wizards that were caught during the Second War were still standing on trial for their crimes against humanity, both magical and muggle. The Wizengamot had convicted Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban and had frozen or confiscated their assets following the start of the trials.

Only one purported Dark Wizard was free, and yet…He was not really. The Wizarding world was free of suspicion of darkness. Its denizens knew that they were liberated from the darkness but an infinitesimal doubt was still in their minds as they watched the scion of one of the most powerful dark wizard ever to walk stroll around Diagon Alley freely.

It was infinitesimal, yes, but still a lingering doubt.

Draco Lucius Malfoy had been acquitted following his trial a year after the Voldemort had fallen. The trial’s records were kept secret from the public; even the trial itself was closed to the world. Only the Wizengamot, sworn to silence even upon pain of death regarding the delicate matter, Draco Malfoy himself, and, much to everyone’s shock, Harry James Potter, were the ones who were present during that day.

The suspicion remained, for not only the Malfoy Scion free as if he was as innocent as the next wizard, but his vast assets also remained untouched by the Ministry.

Just how powerful were the Malfoys? A wizarding line so old and well purely preserved that it was rumored to have existed during the time of Merlin. Of course, the Malfoy name was synonymous to the Galleon itself as one of the pillars of the wizarding economy. It was on the tip of everyone’s tongue yet all were afraid to voice out,

_How much did Draco Malfoy pay for his freedom?_

**********   


Draco Malfoy felt the imperceptible change of the hustle and bustle in the Alley as he walked through it surreptitiously watching other wizards through his peripheral view. He tried to suppress a sneer at the way they studied him and the way they were wary of him as if he was going to transform into another dark wizard. He didn’t want to disappoint them; it wasn’t in his nature to disappoint. But it was simply that he didn’t care much for complete rule over them. Partial, yes. Complete, _never_. It was a far too messy venture.

It had been quite a journey after the Second War. It galled him to have Harry _Bleedin’_ Potter stand as his primary witness to save his arse from the chopping block but it had to be done if he wanted to stay free. _Free and_ wealthy _, mustn’t forget that,_ Draco thought with a smirk.

The Boy-Who-Refused-To-Die stood witness and told the Wizengamot that he played a key role as a double agent for the Order. His reports enabled the Order to rally its troops during the siege at Hogwarts. He wasn’t going to beg or grovel in front of the assembly and tell them just how much he did to save _their_ lives. If they were set on convicting him just because he was a Malfoy, then whatever amount of money he was willing to pay his Arguers to let him walk free would not amount to anything good.

But the Wizengamot was still not satisfied. They were calling for blood to be repaid for the death of Albus Dumbledore even though he was not the one who wielded the wand that killed him. The Dark Lord had executed Severus Snape during the night of the final battle and there was no one to defend him on that account. And when all hope had been lost, Potter’s eyes refusing to meet his, out of guilt that he couldn’t save him as he had saved the entire Wizarding World, Draco suspected, the massive oak doors of the trial court opened with a groan much like an ancient ark being pushed on dry land.It was the youngest Weasley wearing an uncertain look on her pert face.

“Ginny?” Harry cried in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Before Ginny could respond, the Chief Warlock spoke in a gravelly voice bearing no warmth or welcome, “You have no business being here Ms. Weasley. This is a close-court trial. You may leave the same way you came in.”

Ginny looked uneasily around her before clearing her throat. “This is Trial Court number seventeen, is it not? The case concerning Malfoy, I mean, Draco…uh, Malfoy?” she said, obviously unused to giving her former schoolmate any name at all. Her eyes met the blank expression of the boy in question apprehensively before turning her gaze back to the Chief Warlock.

“Yes, as you well know it is. However did you even get near this trial court is a puzzle in itself! Ms. Weasley, I will not repeat myself. You must leave at once!” A slight buzz of disquiet arose behind the Chief Wizengamot. They were about to convict the young Malfoy for conspiracy to murder, as they could not pin him down for other counts.

“Begging your pardon sir, but I was instructed to appear here at this date and hour at this trial court,” she persisted meekly, fishing folded piece of parchment from her pockets before walking towards the high podium. “It’s a letter from Professor Dumbledore—”

“A what?” Harry asked in alarm, suddenly standing up from his seat.

She gave him a slight glance before handing the letter to the Chief Warlock and continued, “I know it may sound unlikely but my father already performed authenticity charms on it. Fawkes delivered it. I recognized him from my, well…my first year and he gave it to me just this morning. It was Fawkes who brought me here outside this trial court.”

“What does it say?” Harry demanded at the Chief Warlock who was reading through the contents of the letter in amazement.

The Chief Warlock looked above his spectacles and sighed. “It seems that my predecessor had some remarkable foresight. And continues to be meddlesome, even after the grave, if I may add,” he grumbled lightly. He glanced at Ginny Weasley’s uncomfortable stance and said to her directly, “Albus Dumbledore recommends that you stand witness for Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

This earned a startled glance from the defendant.

“She will what?” Harry cried out in surprise, gripping the armrests of his chair. He looked from the Chief Warlock to Ginny’s suddenly wary façade. ‘What do you mean she will stand in witness for Malfoy?”

Harry wore a puzzled look on his face, how could Ginny be involved in this trial? As far as he knew, the Weasley that had most contact with Draco Malfoy had been his best friend. There must be some kind of mistake.

“It means Harry, that I have evidence that will keep the Ferret out of Azkaban. And as much as it galls me to do so since I firmly believe that he belongs in there along with his dratted sire, Professor Dumbledore, God rest his soul, asked it of me,” she said with a voice drier than five-day old toast.

Ginny was asked to stand in front of the Wizengamot after voluntarily imbibing the required two drops of Veritaserum with the proffered pumpkin juice. She started to recount the memory that Albus Dumbledore knew she saw.

Ginny had been in her fifth year and just like her older brothers, had a stubborn streak of brushing off rules...

**********   


It had been the start of the school year and Ginny had missed the Opening Feast because of the incessant prattle of her dorm mates. Thanking all that was holy that her twin brothers gave her the location of the Hogwarts kitchens, she silently walked down the corridors, stealthily watching out for signs of Filch or Mrs. Norris.

Just as she was about to round the corner, a flash of movement caught her eye. A flap of someone’s school robes rounded the corner on the other side of the stairs. With the curiosity inherent to every Weasley, she brisk-walked until she almost caught up with the person. It couldn’t be a prefect doing rounds. A prefect would have a partner and wouldn’t be walking that quickly; walking that quickly would mean not being able to peruse the grounds and catch rule-breakers like her.

Just then, the stranger walked passed a corridor and went up the stairs. Ginny glimpsed the almost disembodied figure robed in black, with only his platinum blond head visible from below the stairs. Only one student had that hair color.

_The poncey git might be a prefect but he’s not really that good at his job,_ Ginny mused, walking up the stairs to follow him. Her previous hunger had disappeared.

When he stopped, Ginny was shocked. Even as she was covered by one of the large marble statues in the corridor, she knew where that Phoenix-carved marble staircase led.

The Headmaster’s Office.

She watched in fascination as the revolving stairs accommodated the blond Slytherin without any hesitation.

Her heart pounded frantically when the stairs resumed their original position. What was the Ferret up to? She had no idea if Dumbledore stayed in his office at night or if he had separate rooms for retiring. And how the hell did the Ferret posses the password for Dumbledore’s Enclave? A dozen other questions sprung up in her mind. She knew that nothing good ever came out of Malfoy’s actions and so she continued to wait at her current vantage point until Malfoy returned from the office.

Three-quarters of an hour later, when Ginny was fighting off sleep from her eyes, the revolving stairs started to move, jolting her to wakefulness. She watched as Malfoy walked out of the office, his eyes bleary and his normally immaculately fixed hair was rumpled, as if he ran his hand through it far too many times.

She stood up and ran after him. She watched as he suddenly stopped walking and slowly turned around. She froze.

“Weaslette.” It wasn’t a greeting.

Ginny regained her voice. “What were you doing at the Headmaster’s Office?” she demanded.

He shot her a glare. “And how would that be your business? It’s nearing midnight, almost two hours past curfew, what are _you_ doing out of your dormitory?”

“Don’t change the subject! I know you’re doing something illegal!” Ginny said, trying to sound braver than she felt.

This time, Draco didn’t deign to give her a response. “Ten points from Gryffindor. Go back to your dormitory Weaslette before I start taking off more points,” he said grimly before turning his back at her and started walking down to the dungeons.

“Don’t you walk away from me!”

“Last time I checked, we weren’t dating and I didn’t break up with you,” he answered sardonically, not bothering to stop and turn around.

“You infuriating berk! I’m reporting you to—”

This time Draco turned to the redhead and held her gaze cooly, “Report me to whom Weasley? In case it slipped that maggoty noggin' of yours, I just came from the Headmaster’s Office. See, here’s the thing that will bug you for the rest of the night since you are not in possession of the password. You’ll not know if I did do something dastardly or not so go ahead, report me to whomever. See if I bloody care.” With that, he turned and walked down another flight of stairs.

Stunned at his reply, Ginny collected her thoughts before hissing loudly. “Malfoy, I’m not yet done talking to you!”

“Another twenty points from Gryffindor for disobeying a prefect,” he muttered, finally rounding the corner below and disappearing leaving a thoroughly disoriented Gryffindor behind.

The next night, Ginny became even more determined.

She had sneaked into Harry’s dormitory after dinner and nicked his Invisibility Cloak hoping that he wouldn’t need it for the night. And just in case he did need it, she left a note at the bottom of his trunk with a simple scrambled message only readable to which the note was intended for. It said, _Harry, I have your cloak. Malfoy’s up to no good and I’m getting to the bottom of it. Don’t worry. Ginny._

She was prepared to stake out near the Headmaster’s Office if need be. Being a dubious creature, she knew Malfoy would be back sooner or later. She hoped it would be sooner because as much as she hated to admit it, something about the situation made her uneasy down to her bones. It would be easier to just turn over her covert operations to Harry as soon as she got sufficient evidence that Malfoy was indeed up to no good. The marble statue gave her ample coverage so when Draco Malfoy rounded the corner and stopped in front of the Headmaster’s Office, she slipped on the Invisibility Cloak and walked as quickly as she could to catch the revolving stairs. When it finally stopped, she pressed her back to the solid wall behind her. She did not dare peek into the office and remained hidden near the stairs.

_…but Professor—_

_…No buts Mr. Malfoy, it is your duty to accompany Professor Snape to the Astronomy tower. Your father does not doubt your allegiance anymore?_

_After Voldemort marked me, I don’t think so. Father’s unsuccessful attempt at the Ministry made him eager to prove his allegiance and so he offered my arm._ Draco grimaced distastefully. _But I still don’t understand why you must be killed._

Malfoy was marked? Dumbledore killed?

Blood was starting to rush into Ginny's ears as her eyes widened in shock. They were talking about Professor Dumbledore getting murdered?

_It is for your own protection Mr. Malfoy. You must continue your undercover status for the Order as much as you can. Remember that your defection from Tom’s ranks make you an excessively vulnerable target._

A pregnant pause reigned in the Headmaster’s Office as they all took in what this meant. Ginny’s breathing started to become erratic. Dumbledore being killed, and now a marked Malfoy being a double agent for the Order? What was happening here?

_Professor, surely you know that you alive will give your side an advantage._ Draco’s voice had a strangled quality in it as he voiced his sentiments as if he had trouble voicing them out in the open.

_It is your side as well too, Mr. Malfoy,_ Dumbledore corrected gently. _As for my life, I have lived it to its fullest. To regain the quality of another’s life, hundreds of lives, in fact, is worth dying for. There is no other way to die that is nobler in nature. Do understand that my death will be one of the Order’s catalyst to fight, and Harry’s catalyst to defeat Tom. Do not be afraid Draco when the time comes for you to do your task. Severus will be the one to place the Killing Curse on me._

Ginny was unable to hear anything after that. Her heart continued to beat so hard that her chest hurt. How could Dumbledore plan such a thing?

She pressed herself even further to the wall when out of nowhere, Draco swiftly walked past her to exit the office. She had barely time to digest what had happened when she was jolted back to her senses.

“Miss Weasley, if you please,” Dumbledore’s kindly voice spoke up. “It is unwise to eavesdrop,” he added, looking straight at where she was, his eyes twinkling. “Care for a lemon drop?”

Ginny’s fingers trembled as she struggled to free herself from the cloak. “Professor—” she started, her eyes wide with shock and fear. Tears started to fall from her eyes.

“It’s all right Ms. Weasley, it’s going to be all right,” the wizened man said quietly with a soft smile, understanding her distress.

**********   


Ginny breathed deeply when she finished her tale, watching beneath her lashes the reaction of the Chief Warlock and the Wizengamot. “Professor Dumbledore eased my distress that night by telling me that his death will not be for naught. Draco Malfoy’s involvement in the Astronomy Tower that resulted to Professor Dumbledore’s death was for Voldemort and his Death Eaters’ benefit. And even though it was Professor Snape who administered the Killing Curse, it was under orders from Professor Dumbledore,” she said as she tried to blink back the tears that were threatening to spill, remembering that night and accepting it as Dumbledore advised her to do so.

“Why didn’t you tell me or Ron or Hermione about this?” Harry asked with a frown.

Ginny gave him an exasperated look. “Professor Dumbledore _swore_ me to secrecy in his own way. He placed a time lock on that particular memory, which would only resurface today as if I've never lost it. When I received the letter, the memory came rushing back to me. So as much as I wanted to inform you, I couldn’t have done it,” she said with a rueful smile, thinking about Dumbledore’s ingenuity.

Turning her head back to the Wizengamot she followed, “I wanted to blame Malfoy, who wouldn't? I wanted him to pay because if not for him, Professor Dumbledore would still be here. I _wanted_ that.” For an instant, she was bathed in pain of the memory of the old wizard. Then steeling herself and clearing her throat, she looked directly at her grave audience and continued. “But if, if not for Malfoy, the final battle wouldn’t have commenced. The Order, Dumbledore’s Army, Harry, we, _we_ wouldn’t have gotten that chance to defeat Voldemort. We wouldn’t be here today.”

Draco Malfoy was acquitted on all counts against him.

No one outside that trial knew that Ginny Weasley had been a witness. She preferred that it stayed that way. Only in the main records did her appearance and testimony existed and the Wizengamot kept it under lock and key. So in the eyes of the rest of the Wizarding World, Draco Malfoy had gotten lucky once again.

**********   


The unease between the younger Malfoy and the rest of the Weasley Clan did not abate even though he had been cleared of all charges seven years past. The Weasleys had stopped bugging Harry about what had happened during the trial since he would not give them any sort of information. He had envied Ginny during that time since no one knew of her role during the trial.

But an easy respect had arisen between the youngest Weasley, the Boy-who-Lived, and Draco Malfoy. They were occasionally seen passing the streets greeting each other with curt nods and even going as far as handshakes during formal gatherings.

But aside from that, all allegiances were non-existent. As far as all parties were concerned, Draco Malfoy’s role during the war was over. 


	2. Meeting the Enemy

**ONE YEAR IN PARIS** **Summary:** His role in the war for the light side was over. His role in Ginny Weasley’s life, however, was far from it as one unnatural event threatens to overturn his perfectly well ordered existence and it was all the Weaslette’s fault.

\------- 

**PART ONE: DEVANT PARIS** _Chapter 2_

_Seven years later..._

Draco leaned his tired body on his tall leather chair before briefly closing his eyes and sighing. The lazy afternoon sun had already set off interesting shadows in his classically furnished office. The dark Brazilian Cherry and Oak wood panels were absorbing the light, making them darker and luminous at the same time while the plush Aubusson rugs that were on the floor and the massive stone Floo fireplace gave the room a warm feeling but also contrasted sharply with the high-tech gadgets in it. This was his personal office, his sanctuary where could usually be found at days on end. No one was allowed inside for it was a place where he freely used magic, something that would definitely cause alarm with his overseas muggle investors. On the other hand, Draco only employed witches and wizards who would be working directly with him for convenience's sake. 

It had been more than a satisfactory week at Malfoy Industries, with the company’s wizarding stocks staying steady unlike other businesses. The muggle stocks, on the other hand, were only slightly doing better after entering the NASDAQ market but it was expected since they were publicly new in the States. Indeed, the company his great-great-grandfather had built had grown into an economic pillar with him at its helm. Malfoy Industries had become a household name in both worlds. 

Throughout the centuries, Malfoy Industries became an international conglomerate touching various businesses that provided jobs and livelihood for many people, both muggle and magical. More and more businesses went under the umbrella of the juggernaut company since Draco had taken the post. He regularly combined, took over, bought, and sold flailing businesses and proceeded to turn them into profitable ones. By the time Draco was finished with his fourth year in the business, Malfoy Industries’ reach was extensive, from real estate to agriculture to electronics, from London to Buenos Aries to Tokyo. By that time, he had also earned the grudging respect of his numerous detractors who thought that he would only fuel the flames of destruction his father had started before burning Malfoy Industries to the ground.

His management and business expertise steadied the business after his father had virtually thrown Malfoy Industries all away with his campaign for the fallen Dark Lord during the Second War’s prime. When people doubted that the company would survive, he had all but sweated blood to revive it to its former glory. Lucius Malfoy placed the Malfoy resources at Voldemort's disposal, which resulted to people suspecting and fearing that the Malfoy fortune was borne out of blood money. Blood money paid to fatten Voldemort's coffers to protect neutral Pureblood families and those who pretended to be pure. The wealthy Muggleborn witches and wizards suffered the most; Lucius took their protection money and executed them after. 

_His_ father. Another deep sigh escaped his lips, trying not to think of the dull ache slowly building at his nape whenever he thought of his father. Even though Lucius had been ensconced in Azkaban for the past seven years with no hope of release, his influence in Draco’s life was still far-reaching. Recent whispers of new criminal allegations of his father’s involvement during the war would finally give the Wizengamot more ammunition to seal Lucius fate and be given the Kiss. An ironic grimace slid into Draco’s lips, he should be thankful that the so-called whispers were simply allegations. War crimes were the primary basis of Lucius’ entrenchment in Azkaban, but the law had only to dig deeper to find out worse crimes. Crimes that Draco only knew as faint claims yet would not allow himself put past Lucius’ nature to have actually done. 

In reality, as a Death Eater's son, the right-hand man of Voldemort, he had seen too much to be surprised of anything. But as a Malfoy, he had duties to fulfill to his family. He wasn't doing it to pacify the Ministry's demands to give back something to the destroyed lives by rebuilding Malfoy Industries to give jobs and livelihood, he was doing it because as a Malfoy, it was expected of him to save anyone in their family from shame. The company was resurrected out of pure brilliance; it was his heritage and he was rebuilding it for his family and not for anyone else.

And with that, he could not allow his father to die at the hands of the Ministry. Imprisoned, yes. Executed, no. 

The Malfoy name aside, Draco thought more of the debt he owed immediately to his sire. The debt he owed _himself_ and to his mother as well. Running his hand through his hair, he stood up and watched the empire his family had built and owned for more than four centuries through the tinted glass windows of his penthouse office. 

The truth was that he loved, hated, respected, and loathed his father all at the same time, to that very day. The myriad of emotions regularly swirled in his head; his responsibilities that often threatened to overtake his sensibilities made his head ache. He opposed and agreed to Lucius’ views; some had been practical, some had been brutal. 

The day his father found out by accident that he had been aiding Dumbledore's cause for more than a year, Lucius Crucioed him to an inch of his life in the mansion’s library. To that day, he could still feel the slight vestiges of the excruciating hum of the curse coursing through his bones. And if he would think about it hard enough, he could very well feel the repeated heightened cracks of pain that felt the worst when Lucius called out the curse upon him. Draco had been found by his mother unconscious and was immediately brought to Dumbledore with the help of Severus Snape. The Order lived for weeks in wary fear of the knowledge that their double agent had been found by no less than his Death Eater father but had rested easy when nothing in their plans changed. For Draco, it had been the worst few weeks of his life. The self-recrimination was almost too much for him to bear. 

It had been too late to disinherit or disown him during that time; it was already past his 17th birthday. He had been of age but also knew that he would be a quick target for Voldemort's followers. But it didn’t matter; his father did not betray him to Voldemort. It still confused him as he thought of how easily his father could have served him to the Dark Lord trussed up to be killed as he pleased but didn’t. In that simple act, Draco could not understand where his feelings for his father lied. 

Just that moment, his intercom buzzed. “Mr. Malfoy, the Chancellor of Exchequer’s Office is inquiring about your attendance to the ball this evening, what should I tell them?” It was Marguerite, his forty-something secretary who had been with him since he started to work at Malfoy Industries. 

Briefly glancing at the intercom box, he mentally tried to remember what ball Marguerite was talking about. He vaguely remembered it to be for the opening of the Euro-Asian Magic Trade Exposition that was to happen next week. Malfoy Industries was one of the event’s major sponsors and participants so it was natural that his appearance was expected.

“What is my schedule for tomorrow morning?” he asked, not removing his eyes from the scenic view he had been watching, his hands shoved into his tailored trousers’ pockets. 

A slight hum was emitted from the box before it spoke once more, “An eight-thirty meeting with the Grayson Andrews of Sewell and Marburry here, a brunch meeting with the GenCorp directors at ten at the Claridge, and,” a pause and Draco could hear pages being turned, “an interview with the Financial Times at eleven-thirty.”

“Move the meeting with Andrews to eight, I have some new merger ideas I want to speak to him about. Tell him that I'll be needing to see the financial forecast for the next quarter, as well as the new investors' profiles that he has. And reschedule the FT interview sometime next week, just tell me about it,” he answered distractedly. 

“And the ball tonight?” Marguerite reminded him.

“Affirmative. Inform my valet that I will be at the Manor at seven.” A sudden thought entered his mind and smirked. His workload for the next day was relatively light, and it wouldn’t hurt to indulge in a bit of carousing that evening. He knew the perfect person to bring. “Call Madame Malkin’s and tell them to expect Elise Warrington at their boutique this afternoon. And call her up and tell her that I’ll pick her up at eight for the ball.”

\--------- 

Ginny cried in dismay at the ruined _crème patisserie_ that she had been making. It had seized, and she could smell the telltale signs of burnt milk and sugar crusting up at the bottom of the sauce pan. She knew that for a simple recipe that she could virtually make in her sleep go awry screamed further disaster for that night. Large scale projects seem to never fail to bring her to edge of her nerves. It was like she was experiencing a never-ending sensation of being grounded by electricity. The paranoia of something going wrong and the anticipation of having everything done just perfectly took its toll on her more than the usual. After all, her precious restaurant had a reputation to uphold since she had just received two Diamond Cookery Wands, the equivalent of the muggles' Michelin Stars, the month before. There was definitely _no_ pressure there for Ginny at all.

Quickly dumping the ruined filling into the trash and scourgifying the pan, she restarted the recipe and vowed to concentrate on the task ahead. It wouldn’t do to have so much wasted, and that included precious time. She, her mother, and all ten members of their catering team had less than three hours left before the ingress was to start at the Ministry at six that evening, and there she was, lagging behind on the desserts. She watched as her mother sliced the delicate roast duck breast into diagonal pieces with an expert hand and wished with all her might she had a better aptitude for cooking rather than baking.

"Can someone please watch this for me?" she called out, belatedly remembering that she still had to make half-a dozen large Angel Food Cakes. Heather, one of her pastry assistants took over while she started cracking eggs and separating them. 

Two years ago, she and her mother put up a restaurant business. Thanks to a steady clientele, who at some point in previous years had sampled the famed gastronomic delights that the mother-daughter tandem produced, and the backing of one Harry Potter, SinSalta took off and became the poshest restaurant in that side of Wizarding London. Business had picked up further when they expanded into a catering business and was hired by virtually anyone who could afford them. 

Since that night’s Ministry Ball was to welcome both Asian and European wizards, all two hundred participants from two sides of the world, the Ministry ordered dishes that were familiar to both parties. It was a complete madhouse in the warehouse kitchen that SinSalta had been leasing for the past two years. The menu included Duck Breasts with Crispy Skins wrapped in Thin Crepes, Roasted Suckling Pigs with five different sauces, Veal Wellingtons, Puddings, Steamed Groupers, Sea Bass and Salmon, Skewered Lamb, Wagyu beef, different curries, _Rigatoni al Tartufo_ and two other pastas, Quail and Capon Roulades, Exotic Vegetables, Hot Soups, a wide array of tapas, and an even more impressive dessert spread care of Ginny and four of her assistants. Caviar, oysters, and blinis were already stocked along with a large supply of champagnes and wines. To say that the Ministry pulled out all the stops for that night's ball was an understatement. It was apparent that the host country wanted to impress the delegates, enough for them to want to invest in trade relations with them. Personally, Ginny thought it was an ostentatious display and extremely tasteless to boot.

Swallowing a cry of frustration after almost breaking an egg yolk, she quickly washed her hands to remove any possible residue. Thankfully enough, nothing else went downhill from there. She was directing her assistants to fill the choux pastries that were carefully lined on the workstations while another assistant dipped them into the prepared chocolate ganache to finish the éclairs while simultaneously filling tube pans with the chiffon batter when her mother approached her, drying her hands with a spell. 

“Oh, I do wish your father would tell me what his surprise is,” Molly muttered distractedly to her daughter as she surveyed the kitchens, carefully taking note of which dishes were just about done and ready to be packed. Ginny smoothed the tops of the tube pan's contents before putting all six pans into the waiting oversized oven.

Ginny spared a grin at her mom before turning back to her workstation. She was now starting to carefully spin sugar for the marzipan cakes’ garnish and muttering spells to hold their shapes, just in case the weather decides to turn inclement on them and melt the sugar into a sticky mess. “It’s called a surprise for a reason mum. Besides, you’ll learn soon enough at the ball later.”

“Come on now Ginny, I’m sure your father confided to you about it,” Molly cajoled to her daughter. 

“What makes you think that?” she asked innocently as a smile tugged at the ends of her lips. Sure enough, Ginny did know her father’s big announcement for the ball, but she had been sworn to secrecy by Arthur and unlike her siblings, actually honored such agreements. 

“Oh fine, keep your secrets, why don’t you,” Molly said, shaking her head before tugging off her spattered apron. 

“You go ahead, I’ll finish everything up here,” Ginny offered. “You and dad are going to the ball together, aren’t you?”

“Yes, which is regrettably too soon and not enough time for me to get my hair properly done,” Molly said regretfully. “Are you sure you can finish up?” Ministry Balls were notorious for Ginny and Molly. Sod’s Law seemed to always prove its existence every single time, and while the elder Weasley was quite sure that all the bases were covered, _something_ was bound to go wrong. 

“Don’t worry mum, I got an owl from Ron during lunch, and he told me he’d be here in about half and hour to help out. Though in Ron-speak, I’m pretty sure ‘help out’ means ‘sample everything’,” Ginny said wryly, thinking about her brother’s appetite. 

When Molly left the kitchen warehouse, Ginny checked their menu one last time and ticking off the dishes that were done and packed. Only the delicate desserts that needed last minute prep were left. Ginny was about to start on the shrinking of the food trays when Ron Apparated in. 

“Hullo Gin,” Ron greeted, kissing Ginny on the cheek. “Awww, why is everything packed already?”

“Why does it matter if everything’s packed when you’re only supposed to help and not filch morsels from them?” she asked sweetly. 

Ron muttered about selfish sisters and how he should have just stayed home. “Don’t you have cases to review and people to defend?” Ginny asked, washing her hands. 

Ron proceeded to be an Arguer after the war, continuing his wizarding law studies in Belgium. He specialized in war crimes and human rights. It was something that never ceased to give Ron enough load of work to make him buried in work for days at end. Harry realized that he soon had two swots as his best friends and completely blamed Hermione for it. 

He shrugged and popped a walnut from an opened bag on the counter into his mouth, “Surprisingly, I’m quite free this weekend. Not that I’m complaining or anything. Hermione’s pretty ecstatic about it and demanded that I escort her to the ball tonight.” Hermione had been working with the Ministry’s Internal Affairs Department for the past five years and was recently promoted as Deputy Junior Department Head. She and Ron had been living together for the same amount of time, much to the elder Weasleys’ chagrin. 

“Can I say, ‘Family Affair’ once more?” Ginny quirked with a smile at the thought. Most of the Weasley Clan was involved with the Ministry in some small way or another and functions, such as the one they would be attending later, became an impromptu way for them to see each other aside from their bi-monthly clan gatherings. 

Ron was a Ministry Interrogator at the International Magical Office of Law. Hermione was in the Internal Affairs Department after debating for months whether she was to continue the last year in her healer program a year after the war or join the Ministry. Fleur and Penelope were in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, while Percy had been promoted to Junior Undersecretary to the Minister a few months back. Arthur, on the other hand, had been appointed Deputy Minister of Magic after being with the Ministry for more than half his life five years ago. 

“Harry taking you later?”

“Who else? Though I doubt it if t’was such a good idea since I promised mum I’d handle this dinner. I'd probably be too busy to escort the Ministry's mascot. Can’t say the same for Harry though, I reckon he just doesn’t want to go through the usual hassle of asking someone better to go with him,” Ginny said with a chuckle. "I gathered he wasn't too chuffed about this ball. It's the second time this month that he'd been asked by the Ministry to make an appearance." 

“I heard Egremont’s going,” Ron said casually. 

“Of course, he is. He’s riding on his daddy’s coattails to mingle with important people and talk about things he has no idea about,” Ginny replied disdainfully at the mention of her latest suitor, who happened to be the scion of the late Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot after Dumbledore died. It was the same Chief Warlock that she encountered during Malfoy's trials. 

There was something about Emory Egremont that made her uneasy. Coming from an affluent wizarding family that fought against the dark side during the war, the Egremonts carried weighty influence especially since Horatio Egremont was appointed Chief Warlock after the fall of Voldemort. His swift and firm judgments were popular with the people. He spared no mercy for Death Eaters who committed unspeakable crimes. Harry once commented observantly to her that the way Horatio Egremont worked was similar to Barty Crouch, Sr.'s way of executing and imprisoning criminals after reading numerous trials that he had presided over.

Something about that man made Ginny shiver in unease whenever he was around, and it wasn’t only because he had been relentlessly pursuing her for the past four months even though she had refused him every single time he asked. It was mainly because of the fanatical and sycophantic look he permanently sported, which Ginny privately thought as something she only thought Death Eaters wore. That, and the way he wouldn't get a clue that she simply wasn't interested.

Outwardly, there was nothing wrong with Emory. If one wasn’t looking hard enough, he was the perfect gentleman. But Ginny was looking, and the perfection itself was a warning sign. Egremont’s physical appearance afforded him the same self-assuredness that a certain white-blond schoolmate of hers possessed, but whilst the latter tended to shy away from the public in the recent years, the former reveled in. 

She proceeded to unload a massive tray filled with pistachio-almond macaroons from the cold box, as well as a large bowl filled with pistachio butter. “I just wish the arse would get a bloody clue that I’m not interested,” she muttered, sitting on a stool to finish filling the delicate cookies. 

Ron proceeded to wash his hands and putting on plastic gloves before sitting next to his sister to help her with the cookies. He sighed and turned to his sister with a serious expression, “Emory Egremont filed a case against Lucius Malfoy a couple of weeks ago, and the case just passed through my office this morning.”

Ginny paused at this for a moment before frowning. “And?”

“I was thinking you know a bit about Egremont’s background,” Ron shrugged.

“I’m sorry but nothing about him is actually interesting to inquire about,” Ginny replied mockingly. 

“Egremont’s been tailing you since he noticed you, I figured he mouthed off something to you about why he hates the Malfoys so much.”

“C’mon Ron, how can anyone not dislike the Malfoys?” 

“Sure, they’re so rich it’s disgusting, and we’ve wished for Lucius to die a million times over but things have changed in the recent years, Gin. We’ve shied away from handing out the capital punishment since the end of the war, and the Kiss has been only reserved for the most heinous and special crimes. Egremont’s actually pleading for Lucius to be given the Kiss,” Ron said, more puzzled than worried.

Ginny, on the other hand, was disturbed, albeit still a little detached. She had more reasons to want Lucius dead than the average witch or wizard, but she was past what had happened to her when she was eleven a long time ago. “What did Lucius do to Emory?”

“It’s not very hard to believe, to be honest. Egremont claims that Lucius raped and tortured Gertrude Egremont to death towards the end of the war,” Ron answered with a grimace at the thought. 

As many times Ginny had heard the atrocities the Death Eaters did during the war, she couldn’t stop her stomach from turning at the images that incidences, alleged or otherwise, provided. “I’m not sure how to respond to that,” Ginny said with a frown. "And wouldn't Emory's father have filed for that before he died? He's her husband after all. I mean he had more than enough time to pursue the case and have Lucius Kissed even before he died last year."

"The Egremonts weren't exactly the kind of couples that get along well. I'm thinking Lucius in Azkaban was enough punishment for the elder Egremont," Ron replied with a frown as if trying to remember the details of the case that passed through his hands that day. "It's just one of the speculations we had this afternoon in the office. It's just too puzzling to take on but at the same time, too ridiculously wicked not to take on," he added ruefully. “Enough of the depressing talk, tell me more about that Egremont git so I can blab to Charlie and George and give them enough reason to pummel him to death,” Ron said cheekily, changing the subject.

“He breathes,” Ginny replied succinctly. 

Ron stared at his sister and laughed. “I’m sure Charlie and George would find that sufficient reason to kill him.”

“Trust me, after you meet him later, you'd think it’s enough reason to save the world from having any more Egremonts running around in the future,” Ginny said blandly. “Think of how Draco Malfoy was before he defected to our side,” Ron growled at the image, “and multiply his bigoted tendencies a hundred times over, with a splash of Goyle’s stupidity thrown in. _That’s_ how much the world would benefit with him gone.”

“How can a half-blood be bigoted?” Emory Egremont was a half-blood with both his parents being half-blooded as well. 

“Same way Tom was.”

“Touché.” 

“He's a stupid and arrogant blighter, and I just wish he’d effing lay off,” Ginny grumbled, finishing the last of the macaroons and shrinking the container to a manageable size. “It’s like I’m you and Millicent Bulstrode is stalking me,” she continued with a shudder, as she saw her brother wince. “I’d better head back to my flat and pick up my clothes,” she said, brushing off crumbs from her chef’s jacket before freeing her thick burnished hair from its ties. 

“How about I pick up your stuff so you can head off to the Ministry to start the ingress with the crew so that you won’t have any trouble going back?”

“In exchange for what?”

“Saving me one of each of the puddings that you’ve got,” Ron replied with a grin. 

“Deal.”

\----------------- 

 

Dressed in a simple puce colored jersey cocktail dress, Ginny was a little undressed for the event, which turned out to be a full-blown black-tie affair with witches and wizards dressed in their ceremonial robes and long gowns. _It could be worse_ , she thought with a grimace while she supervised the hall attendants as they served amuse bouche and hors d'uvres to the guests. So far, the Sod still hadn’t made an appearance and fucked up anything, but she wasn’t discounting a late appearance. 

She picked up a flute of champagne from one of the magically suspended trays and settled herself near the hallway doors where the servers entered. Ginny spied her parents chatting up with a Japanese couple at the far end of the ballroom. Percy and Hermione were by the salad bar in an intense conversation, which Ginny could only surmise was something work-related. And if Ginny didn't know them any better, she'd say that Percy was winding Hermione up with his pompous views regarding the Ministry.

_Of course, Harry would be surrounded by a bevy of international beauties,_ Ginny mused, watching her friend tug conspicuously at his collar when an all too forward female guest from a group of three advanced way too close for comfort. For all of Harry's popularity and lore, he still acted as if the attention was unwarranted. Ginny thought he was handling it pretty well, at least it wasn't like the last time where Harry's ears were in danger of flaming on its own. She smothered a giggle at the memory. If she wasn’t so intent at supervising, she would have came to his rescue already. Turning her head back to the buffet table, she spied that the food were the ones that needed some immediate rescuing. 

“Ronald! Stop gobbling everything up!” 

"What? What's a bloke got to do here to get some decent chow?" Ron asked indignantly, quickly swallowing whatever he stuffed in his mouth.

From the other end of the Ministry Atrium, where the ball was being held, Draco Malfoy watched the youngest Weasley discreetly hit her brother at the back of his head, a smile quirking at his lips. It wasn’t hard to miss the girl. Red hair aside, she was easily trying not to be noticed but failing supremely because of the manner of her dress. 

With half an ear listening to the Trade Minister of Indonesia talk about better industry relations with the Netherlands, he studied her detachedly. Every single time he’d see her, a familiar surge of grudging gratitude coiled in his chest.

_The horror of owing a Weasley something,_ he thought disconcertedly to himself. And it wasn’t simply ‘something’; it had been his freedom. His very life. It had been a long time ago; he might as well consider it as something that had happened a lifetime ago since even though Voldemort's crimes were horrific, he could already think about it now with a certain level of detachment. So much had happened in his life after the war, with the control of Malfoy Industries as the foremost priority that he had, that it took precedence over those dark times. To his relief, Potter and the girl Weasley were cordial enough to respect the unspoken plea to spare his pride regarding what happened during the trial.

_Speaking of Scarhead,_ his eyes roamed around the room and watched amusedly as his date for the evening chatted up a distinctly uncomfortable Harry Potter near the buffet table. But Draco knew that sooner or later, Elise Warrington would have even the wary Harry Potter curled around her finger. It was what he liked best about the American Magical Ambassador’s daughter; she was incredibly candid and sophisticatedly elegant at the same time that it was easy to be at ease with her. 

On a more shallow level, she was very haunting to look at. He was appreciative of the lithe curve of her body paired with an understated striking face, which were framed by short and curly raven-colored locks. But it was her eyes that gave her a different depth that one itched to be privy of. Her eyes were a curious color of deep blue that it was almost indigo in shade. It was dark and almost always sparkling with humor but when it wasn't, there was a placid quality about it that was so hauntingly serious. Draco was surprisingly good-humored enough to understand the fascination the American girl found with the Boy-Who-Lived so he let her have her fun. He’d have his later that night anyway. 

Dinner had been an enjoyable and delectable affair an hour later, and he knew it had been catered by the fashionable SinSalta; by the Weasleys. His vision strayed once more to where the youngest Weasley was who was then carrying a more harried expression on her face. The line of her full mouth was pursed as if she was biting her lip to keep from saying something. Figuring that the conversation at his table could go on without him there, he excused himself and walked towards where she was, more out of curiosity than anything. 

“My compliments to the chef, Weasley,” he said mildly to the redhead who was already busily arranging the contents of a glass dish with her wand. It looked to be some confection of some kind to him. 

Ginny quickly narrowed her eyes to the white-blond before sending the server with the dish away with quick instructions to put it nowhere near a window. With a wary look, she thanked him. 

“I’m impressed, Weasley, this is the first time I was able to sample SinSalta’s fare.”

“And you’re being polite because?” she asked snippily.

Draco lifted an eyebrow at the shrewish redhead. “Manners, Weasley. Problems in the kitchen?” 

Expelling an exasperated sigh, “Just when everything was about done, _he_ had to appear and muck things up!”

“Forgive my ignorance, but who’s he?”

“The Sod, who else?” 

The spun sugar she made that afternoon solidified to something akin to the texture of plaster with stringy blobs running down before setting, making it look like some sugar monstrosity. The tray containing the spun sugar was set near the freezer, and it would take an hour to set it back to room temperature to make it edible since heating it through magic would destroy it. She had no choice but to substitute them with pulled marzipan. 

“Do I know the Sod?”

Ginny gave out an unladylike snort. “Murphy’s Law,” she explained irately. “Isn’t that your date with Harry?” Elise was dancing with Harry Potter, with the latter looking more at ease than the last time Ginny had seen him with his harem. 

“It seems that I’ve been cast aside,” Draco said dryly, picking up a glass of champagne and taking a swallow. 

“No need to wallow yourself in drink. It's bad for a Malfoy to get sloshed,” Ginny said teasingly, tucking a stray lock of her red hair to the back of her ear, “Don’t worry, Harry’s incredibly inept with women, as you well know.”

“Speaking from first hand experience, Weasley?”

"Can't resist that jab, can you, Malfoy?" she asked with a smirk, not really affected by it. It was amusing to her, in fact. With Ron and Hermione living together and Luna and Neville dating, Harry seemed to naturally cling on to Ginny. She didn't mind, she enjoyed his company, and it was the best kind since they got along really well with no expectations. “You don’t seem to be bothered that your date’s with Harry,” she commented.

“As you’ve pointed out, it’s just _Harry Potter_ ,” he pointed out sarcastically.

“Don’t tell me you’re having ego issues, Malfoy.”

“Comparing myself next to Potter? I rather like to think it’s not an issue of ego at all,” he replied lightly. “I’m taking her home anyway,” he followed with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders, as if the Boy-Who-Lived was irrelevant. 

_Which, to Draco Malfoy, truly was irrelevant,_ Ginny thought wryly to herself. It was the first time in a long while that she was able to talk to her former schoolmate. Like the rest of the Wizarding World, she knew the basics; that he had resurrected the family business single-handedly and proceeded to become one of the youngest and richest wizards in the world after quadrupling Malfoy Industries profits in three years' time. He had also become some sort of a social recluse, something unimaginable to many, who had known him in Hogwarts. Many speculated that the war and the trial pushed him to do so. He was regularly featured in publications but was rarely seen in the public eye the past few years. Witch Weekly reported that reliable sources say that he was a certified workaholic who'd rather hole himself with work than socialize with people his age. 

At around an inch or two above six feet, Draco had more or less the same build as Harry. Both were more wiry than thin, with a little more elegant, athletic quality in him as opposed to Harry’s rugged aura. And unlike Harry's adorable unease towards being the center of attention, Malfoy had a better concept on how to deal with other people, especially when charming the opposite sex. The urbane masculinity that he had was understated, and Ginny had a feeling that he was doing that on purposed to avoid attention. His hair was no longer doused in a vat of hair tonics but was carefully trimmed and casually swept back, keeping the length acceptable at an inch above his collar. It was still pale, _he_ was still pale himself, but unlike the peaky feature it once had, it made Ginny envious with its alabaster quality. What she would give to grow out of her freckles.

But the most noticeable change was the way Malfoy carried himself. Gone was the perpetually sneering façade, and in its place was a deceivingly amicable and polite look that if one didn’t look thoroughly, would miss the still present feral hunger to win in his silvery eyes. The war taught him to lie low. The superior air was still there, but it had toned down to something Ginny could manage without wanting to bust him with a nasty hex. There were still appearances to be maintained after all, and Ginny understood that. 

Before she could take her fill at studying her erstwhile former school nemesis, a chafing voice cut through their companionable silence. 

“Malfoy.”

Draco turned, “Egremont.”

Ginny winced. She had forgotten about Emory Egremont’s attendance until that moment. She watched as Emory’s ill-concealed sneer slid off Malfoy's suddenly coolfaçade.“Ginny,"

"Emory," Ginny greeted stiffly. "Good to see you." She saw Malfoy raise an eyebrow at the contradicting words and the way she said it in an abrasive manner. 

"I saw you across the room and figured you wanted better company. Would you like to dance?” Emory asked with his trademark smarmy smile, offering a hand out to Ginny. She stared at it and ignored it. A slight flush crept on the newcomer’s face, before pulling down his hand. 

“You should have stayed there. As you can see, I’m presently engaged in a pleasant enough conversation,” she replied sweetly. 

Draco eyed the exchanged with detached amusement. The redhead apparently wasn’t too fond of the peacock. “I assure you, a Death Eater is always a—”

“I strongly suggest that you do not to continue that statement, Egremont,” Draco interrupted quietly. The controlled voice belied a flash of danger as his eyes took a storm-like quality to it. 

Emory met his gaze with his own icy blue ones, which were again regaining an all too familiar fanatical appearance to Ginny. She took an inconspicuous step backwards. For some reason, the look Emory had was more sinister than the one Draco Malfoy had. 

“Dance with me,” another voice entered the rapidly tensing atmosphere. It was Elise, lightly tugging Draco’s arm towards the dance floor. She hadn't noticed the strangled conversation that was happening before she had arrived. The blond nodded stiffly to Ginny, met the glare the dark-haired man gave him before following his date to the dance floor. 

“You were talking to that murderer?” Emory hissed, his eyes still locked to the back of Draco's retreating form. 

“Watch yourself, Emory. Slander is punishable, especially if you attack someone like Draco Malfoy.” She couldn't believe she had just defended the Ferret. At least she knew whom she hated more at that moment.

“Aye, of course, because they're filthy rich. Of course, they can have me thrown to Azkaban. Maybe I can request the cell next to his father." Ginny narrowed her eyes to him in response. "The Malfoys are thieving murderers, Ginny. Surely, you, of all people, know that,” Emory countered derisively.

“And I’m sure you know that you’re not in the position to remind me of things you know nothing of.”

“Know nothing of? I beg your pardon, but Lucius Malfoy destroyed my family. I don’t want him anywhere near you.” 

The Minister of Finance was taking the stage and was introducing her father. The crowd in the ballroom was already listening with half an ear as low murmurs permeated the place. Arthur Weasley was generally known in the Wizarding community since he had taken a mainly non-violent stand against the Dark Arts and was very concerned with the well being and preservation of the world they lived in. Ginny wanted to listen to her father’s surprise announcement since she knew that it would be a big deal to the rest of her family in attendance, but Emory Egremont was making it damn near impossible for her to do so. 

Ginny counted to ten in French and pig Latin before swallowing a string of curses. The arse was pushing her to throw a fit in the middle of a Ministry Ball and right in the middle of her father's big announcement! “Would you kindly remove yourself near me? Now, if possible?”

“You’re upset.”

“No, really? What made you say that?”

“Don’t take that tone with me.”

She let out a frustrated gurgle from her throat at the audacity of his words. “You’re this close to be hexed within an inch of your life, you interfering, sodding bastard,” Ginny hissed, her wand’s tip suddenly peeking out of her invisible wrist guard.

Emory frowned and took a step back. “Look, Ginny, you have to listen to me,” the glow in his eyes were back. “His father murdered my mother. His lot—”

_“—declare my official bid for the position of Minister of Magic for next year’s appointment,”_ Arthur Weasley announced with a broad smile to the now avidly listening crowd before him before it erupted into loud cheers and applause. 

“Don’t you mean, your lot? Stay away from me, Emory. I mean it,” Ginny spat, gritting her teeth. She turned away from the unwanted company and wove her way to where her ecstatic family was. 


	3. Chapter 3

**ONE YEAR IN PARIS** **Summary:** His role in the war for the light side was over. His role in Ginny Weasley’s life, however, was far from it as one unnatural event threatens to overturn his perfectly well ordered existence and it was all the Weaslette’s fault.

**PART ONE: DEVANT PARIS**

_Chapter 3_

Draco shifted as lightly as possible from his horizontal position to avoid waking his sleeping bedmate. If the muted sunshine peeking through drapes in Elise’s loft were any indication of the time, he’d say it was close to nine in the morning. It was already his third time that week to wake up in her elegantly decorated flat, and for the third time that week, he had woken up in good spirits. To say that he enjoyed the American’s company would be a complete understatement. He had dinner with her last night before heading to her place for a nightcap, which, of course, led to other, more pleasurable things.

He did have a few things to work on at the office that day but nothing so urgently important until that afternoon. Leisurely closing his eyes once more, he mentally went through the projected negotiations he’d have with Richard Branson for additional funding of Virgin Airlines’ new Boeing jumbo jet that the flamboyant businessman pitched to him as the newest, top-of-the-line aircraft. Aviation was another thing he became interested in the past year; the revenues alone were enough to make him interested.

“Don’t you have competitors to antagonize, companies to overtake, and underlings to punish?” a sleepy voice asked him. 

Draco could feel her lips upturning to a smile, as they brushed against his neck. Elise’s face was buried at the crook of his neck, her curly hair only managing to expose the fringes of her lashes and her well-sculpted nose.

The blond turned her over and spooned her lithe, naked body against his own and placed quick kisses on her bare shoulders. “And leave something so delectable?”“Point.”“Besides, I can afford to have a lie-in for today,” he murmured. "Sommerfield-Brent can have his pick on which companies to take-over for the next couple or hours or so." 

Sommerfield-Brent was a large conglomerate head to head with Malfoy Industries with the way they seemed to swallow up smaller companies. Elise chuckled in reply, grazing her hands over his hip suggestively. “Beats having breakfast with the board, doesn’t it?”

“Any fucking day.”

Half an hour later, the two were still languidly in bed in a scene that would have stunned people who knew Draco Malfoy well. Every so often, he laughed; a content and somewhat teasing expression was on his face as the woman next to him amused him. It was a far cry from the coldly serious workaholic, bordering on bastardly image, the rest of the Wizarding World knew.

“When’s Bernard arriving?”

“I’m really not quite sure, come to think of it. Martha’s been fussing over dad for the past week, since he caught a cold from his last trip to Edinburgh,” Elise replied thoughtfully. Martha was her family’s old housekeeper and somewhat of a surrogate mother figure to her ever since her own mother, being an Auror deployed to England during the war, had died. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m thinking I should owl him about the meeting with Branson I have this afternoon. His opinion would mean a great deal. Well, just a confirmation actually. Your father, even with his diplomatic front, does have a good nose for investments.”

It was how Draco met Elise seven months before. Bernard Warrington came to England on the American Wizarding Government’s missive to scope out businesses that would have a shot in entering the American market. Malfoy Industries was the first in the elder Warrington’s list. Over one business luncheon at Malfoy Industries’ famed executive dining room, Bernard brought his daughter with him.

At the age of twenty-three, Elise was already finished with her second Master’s degree of International Trade Economics in a Muggle Ivy League University and with that under her belt, being enormously helpful at her father’s side. Practical, intelligent, and attractive; she was easily an indispensable asset.

Meeting Elise during that time wasn’t anything spectacular, if Draco were to be honest with himself. He had met far more beautiful and engaging women in his life than her. He had simply developed an intense respect for the intelligent and personable witch and her father, combined with the fact that they worked in close proximity most of the time that he was in talks with her father. A mutual attraction had developed between them during the time Draco took both father and daughter under his wing, as she took interest in the British Trade.

He and Elise came from the same cut of cloth, albeit he had a dark past. Coming from America and spending most of her life there, news of the war was just that for the Americans Wizarding Community, news. It was something that wasn't directly affecting them yet at that time. They enjoyed the same pastimes and understood money and its influence; it was something they could talk about for hours, and Draco enormously valued her opinion on them. It wasn't that he hadn't met any intelligent witches as well, it was more of the fact that Elise didn't ask too many questions. She respected Draco's privacy and knew when to give him space.

Elise lazily got up from the bed they shared without bothering to cover up her nudity. Not that Draco minded, not at all. Aside from intellectual compatibility, his baser instincts agreed with hers quite well. “I’m getting coffee, shall I get you a cup?”

“I rather have something else, if you don’t mind,” Draco grinned, his eyes brazenly straying at her perky breasts.

“Again?” Elise asked teasingly before walking out of the room, muttering about insatiable bastards, and how they could manage to run companies after being so thoroughly fucked. “So what do you think about Arthur Weasley’s Ministerial bid?” she called out from the kitchen downstairs.

Draco, more mindful of his modesty, grabbed his dressing robe and Elise’s as well, before descending down the modern spiral staircase of the flat. “It should be interesting, to say the very least,” Draco said, tying his robe and popping a couple of his favorite _pain au chocolats_ from the bread and fruit basket to a plate. He had instructed his house elves to prepare some for him every time he wouldn’t be sleeping at the Manor. 

“Really? Because he’s got no one to oppose him?” Arthur Weasley had yet to have someone run against his bid for the position. But it was also too early to be sure that he'd be the only bid. 

“That, and Arthur Weasley’s going to push for a lot of wizard welfare reforms, which is both a good and a bad thing. He’d be too focused on the wizarding welfare index to take notice of trade interests, which would be a good thing for us—” 

“Monopoly, anyone?” Elise interrupted snidely, as she watched him perform a warming spell on the pastries. 

“Unless he appoints a good cabinet to oversee them,” he finished. He opened her dressing robe and helped her slip into it, before he took his coffee from her.

“Don’t you think you’re underestimating him just a tad bit?”

Draco shrugged, “I’m not an expert on the Weasleys, to be honest. I’m just reading it at face value for now.” No need to tell anyone that he was funding Arthur's campaign.

"Didn't you mention something about going to school with one of them before?""You met him yesterday. He's Potter's best mate.""Oh, the redhead?""They're Weasleys, Elise. They're _all_ redheads," Draco said wryly before drinking from his cup. 

“Budge up,” Elise said, pushing Draco lightly to sit next to him in the breakfast nook. She snuggled back at him before grabbing The Daily Prophet’s International News Pages. Draco was content with his coffee and pastry and reading the front page. “What time do you have to get back to your little empire?” 

“Mhhmm, perhaps in an hour,” he replied.

They ate in companionable silence, something that struck Draco as something akin to domesticity. And for the life of him, wondered why the thought didn’t freak him out. He wasn’t looking to settle with anyone in the near future. There were still a million things for him to accomplish and the bottom line of it was that he wasn’t ready. But if he were to _need_ to marry anyone anytime soon, he’d not need a second thought of asking Elise Warrington to he his wife. 

An impulsive idea crept in his mind. He studied her for a while. “Elise, if I were to ask you to marry me, would you say yes?”

Draco watched as she froze for a second, a slight frown building on her face. Then recovering her former calm, she quirked a shapely eyebrow before giving him a side-along gaze and mimicked him, “If I asked you if you were taking a mickey out of me, would you say yes?”

“Why would I tease you about something like this?”

“Oh, let me see, because a Malfoy would never want to marry someone like me?”

“What do you mean?”

“If in case it has escaped your suddenly barmy noggin, I’m only three quarters pure,” she intoned flatly. “Really, Draco.” Elise went back to reading her paper, signaling the bizarre conversation had ended.

He had indeed known that important fact, but it never really bothered him much. It was important, but the Malfoy line could only continue to be pure for so long before Squibs regularly started appearing in their family tree due to inbreeding. It was Draco’s turn to raise an eyebrow to her, “Lucius isn’t here to tell me what to do.” 

“Why suddenly _the_ question? Believe me, if I knew you any less, I’d be a complete nutter and say yes. But knowing what a big berk you truly are, I know you’re just asking for the hell of it,” Elise exasperatedly pointed out, unable to resist rolling her eyes at his amused expression. “See what I’m talking about?”

“What?”

“If you truly were serious about the question, you’d be all pissed off that I have yet to give you a straight answer.”

“What makes you think I’m not bleeding inside?” Draco teased.

“Shut your trap, you pillock.”

“Just pretend I’m serious, and I just asked you _the_ question—”

“I’d repeatedly hit you on the nuts with my Nimbus for being so unromantic about asking,” Elise replied promptly, making Draco swallow a wince. “Not that I’d ever want to take the romantic route anyway,” she added with a frown. 

“What would your answer be?” he persisted.

She paused and sighed deeply before looking straight to his suddenly serious eyes. “Look, would you throw a fit if I say no?” Draco didn’t reply. “Well, don’t. That’s my answer so please don't ask again,” she added quickly. “I’m simply not made for marriage, Draco. Believe me, I’m happy where I am with you now and—”

Draco silenced her with a kiss. When he released her, a satisfied smile was on his lips. “And that, _chérie_ , is the reason why you’re damned perfect.” It was half past two in the afternoon when Draco finished his meeting with Richard Branson at the Savoy, finally signing a deal that would finance the commission of the new Boeing aircraft that would bring Malfoy Industries an estimated fifty-six million galleons in two years’ time. Entering the Leaky Cauldron's rest rooms, he quickly put on his robes over his suit. He gave Tom the bartender a curt nod before entering Diagon Alley.

He had been entertaining the thought of hosting an intimate dinner party for the board of directors for the Virgin Group and Malfoy Industries when the idea solidified after spying the elegant façade of SinSalta.

The two-level structure was housed between’s Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor and Burton and Bees' Magical Instruments. An oversized black and white striped awning on the second level gave it a neat but chic appearance. A few tables were situated on the second level’s balcony for diners that preferred _al fresco_ dining. A handsomely-tended creeping vine was carefully entwined on the side trellis, reminding Draco of the boutique diners in Provence.

He was sure that he could convince the youngest Weasley to take on the job. She had been quite cordial to him during the ball last week, which he couldn’t quite say the same when she acted towards Emory Egremont. It appeared to him that Egremont had some sort of _tendre_ for the Weasley girl that she didn't quite return. It gave him a rise that the other man dared to insinuate something that galled him to be labeled with. 

Besides, he was really quite impressed with the spread the mother-daughter tandem had produced for the Ministry ball. If he were being completely honest with himself, he adored the pistachio macarons of SinSalta. They were better than the gems their old housekeeper in their country home in Bordeaux made for him, which were his childhood favorites, or the ones he regularly ordered from Ladurée in Paris.

_Speaking of the Weaslette_ , he thought as a flash of oxblood red whipped out of the restaurant iron and glass French doors. He may have also seen the fuming expression on her face as she passed by. He didn’t think she even noticed that he was in the vicinity even though she had only been a few meters from where he was standing. She quickly disappeared amongst the throng of bustling wizards and witches before her red hair reappeared. 

“Weasley, wait!” Ginny didn’t hear him.

Already the last week of August, the alley was densely populated with shoppers consisting mostly of parents herding their children to pick up school supplies and textbooks. Draco watched amusedly, as he reckoned the Weasley’s hair could double as a lighthouse beacon, it’s vivid coloring signaled her location while her burnished head bobbed up and down the Alley as she walked away. 

_I’ll just have Marguerite give them a call tomorrow._ There was little chance of him being able to persuade the Weaslette from accepting the job order if she was that rankled. But he wasn’t about to give up on his macarons, hoping that they had that readily on hand. Draco was about to walk towards the restaurant to pick up some when the door burst open once more, startling the other shoppers in the Alley. 

It was Emory Egremont sporting an equally furious look on his dark features. He scanned the bustling street before catching Ginny’s retreating form. Draco spied him gripping his wand tightly before shoving shoppers to presumably reach the Weasley girl. 

Draco’s former war instincts took over. It didn't take a genius to know that Egremont was up to no good and decided to follow them. Within seconds, both were gone, but the prickling sense of trouble persisted. 

A few days ago, he found out that it was the younger Egremont who had been shaking up his father’s past in the Wizengamot. From what his Arguers informed him, they were simply preliminary complaints; something that was common and usually dismissed if the evidence was insufficient, but Draco instructed them to keep him informed. Something told him that Emory Egremont’s reaction toward him during the ball was enough indication that he wasn’t going to rest until Lucius Malfoy was six feet underground. Whatever Lucius did to the Egremonts, he wasn't quick to discount it, but he sure as hell wasn't to give up without a fight. 

Scanning the Alley for any sign of the redhead, he was momentarily stunned to spy an abandoned wand kicked near the entrance of Gringotts and knew immediately that it was the youngest Weasley’s wand. He picked up the flexible wand, smoothed his fingers along its length and found “GMW”, the year of her birth and the Ministry's control number engraved on its handle. After whispering an incantation, the wand started to pull him through the crowd towards a familiar entrance. _Knockturn Alley._

Cursing inwardly, the incantation continued to pull him inside insistently, as if knowing that its owner was in trouble. Draco heard a strangled scream before it was muffled. 

_“Incarceus! Frendo vox vocis!”_

A chill coursed through Draco’s veins after hearing the familiar dark curse. He hadn't heard the potent spell in seven years and yet, it didn't fail to lessen the fear that he felt. An old wrinkled hag was loitering nearby him before narrowing her beady eyes towards a secluded alleyway near Borgin and Burkes; Draco flipped her a Sickle before pushing his way towards it, withdrawing his own wand from his wrist guard under his robes. 

Ginny was struggling against Emory Egremont’s heavier frame. His hand was gripping her throat, while her wrists were bound by harsh ropes. He had the disturbing light in his eyes again, which made her struggle even more in desperate fear. Her throat felt as if it was burning, closing up on her and refusing precious air from entering her lungs. But Ginny knew that Emory's hand that was spanning across her throat wasn’t responsible for it. She knew she was screaming for help, yet no sound was coming out, not even a strangled cry.

“Go ahead, my sweet, scream. No one’s going to hear you,” Emory said with a placid smile, while putting a bit more pressure on her throat. Ginny’s eyes became wild and glassy from the lack of air. Her knees felt like they were turning into jelly, as they were feebly trying to kick him. “You little tease, you think you can just dismiss me like that?”

Emory could feel her gurgling in pain as vibrations from her throat tickled his palm. Every swallow, every breath, every scream she made, he felt. He bent his head near her ear and whispered, “Tell me Ginny, if a tree in a forest falls down, does it make a sound? I think it’s time to teach you that smart talking will lead you to nothing but trouble. You should know by now that it is unwise to cross me. You have crossed me for the last time, dearest. _Attero vox—_ ”

Having seen enough and being reminded of war atrocities that he had witnessed during the war, Draco strode quietly behind Egremont, wand at hand. Draco roughly pushed the tip of his wand on his nape. “Tell me, Egremont, what does a high and mighty arse like you doing in Knockturn Alley, aside from routinely assaulting ladies with dark curses?” Draco asked in an obviously controlled tone of voice. 

Draco quickly disabled the Incarcerous spell and did a counter-dark curse to restore Ginny's speech. 

Egremont’s words froze on his lips. Ginny, after choking and wheezing to get air back into her lungs, droplets of blood spattered on the ground, lunged at Egremont with both fists. “You fucking, _fucking_ bastard!” With rage fueling her anger, a string of curses escaped her lips, as she hit him repeatedly like a deranged wildcat. 

With Ginny attacking Emory roughly, Draco lost the connection of the tip of his wand with his nape. Upon regaining his wits, Emory pushed Ginny away from him, dodged the wand perilously pointed at his head, and with a contemptuous look directed at Draco, Disapparated. 

Ginny stared at the empty space where Emory Egremont had stood before her before letting out a cry of dismay. With her chest heaving, she leaned back on the wall of the alleyway and looked heavenward, still trying to catch precious air that she had been deprived of. 

Moments later, her wand appeared in front of her face attached to one Draco Malfoy’s hand. She stared at him aimlessly. “My wand,” she said dumbly before lifting her hand to grasp the familiar length. “Where—”

Draco studied her pale face, the anger slowly dissipating as shock started to settle. “Near Gringotts,” he answered shortly. “Do you think you are able to walk out of here or should I perform a levitating spell?”

Ginny dragged her eyes to where Draco was, unaware that she started to stare at the wall behind him again. “Weasley!” Draco snapped at her to get her attention. Muttering a curse, he lightly slapped her cheek. It got him more attention that he would have liked when she started to hit him with abandon. “Stop it! Get a hold of yourself, Weasley!” He grabbed both her arms to restrain her, giving her a sharp shake before looking at her meaningfully. “It’s okay, it’s just me, Malfoy.”

Ginny blinked and gapped at him as if she had only seen him for the first time. “M-Malfoy?”

“Do you think you can walk out of here?”

She shook her head to clear the fogginess she felt. “Malfoy? What are you doing here?”

Draco grunted an incoherent reply before pulling her away from the wall to lead her out of the seedy Alley. “Do you want me to owl Potter?” When he released her from the wall, he understood why she had her frame slumped on the solid matter. Her legs were unable to support her, and she wasn’t even aware of it.

Breathing deeply, savoring the air that she had been denied as they reached the end of Knockturn Alley, she looked up to him. Dark blots were appearing in front of her vision and bile was threatening to heave out of her gullet. With a hard swallow, she concentrated on the voice next to her. “Harry?”

“Yes, Potter,” Draco answered curtly.

People were starting to stare at the odd couple walking down Diagon Alley. It was an unheard of event; a Weasley and a Malfoy in close proximity of the other. Ginny was mechanically relying on Draco’s frame, since, as much as she tried to steady her legs, they didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Unconsciously, Draco shielded the shocked girl with his robed frame as best as he could. The stares would have to stay that way without them knowing what had just transpired to the youngest Weasley. He didn't think it would be best for the assault of the daughter of a running politician be the main fare for The Daily Prophet tomorrow. 

When they reached SinSalta a couple of minutes later, Ginny collapsed her body on the nearest chair before shuddering. The lunch crowd had thankfully dispersed. And even mercifully was that the Weasley mother, Draco noticed, was absent. He didn't think two swooning females would be something he'd be able to handle. Swooning or avenging, it depends on how Molly Weasley would read the scene before her. The few remaining diners watched curiously as the restaurant’s proprietor regain her wits. Draco ignored the stares, Ginny was unaware of them. 

Draco noted that the inside of the restaurant was as inviting and airy as its exterior. Twisted iron and woven rattan tables and chairs dominated the interior, giving an impression that a garden setting had been brought inside the restaurant. For someone like Draco, who had a trained eye for fine items, he realized that the delicate tea sets were genuine Limogues and the silverware were of good quality; the table cloths looked like fine linen with delicate embroidery on its edges. It was apparent that SinSalta was prosperous. Farther into the first level were opened French double doors leading to a stone patio with an infinity stream weaving its way towards a marble fountain. The black iron trellises were ensconced with blooming roses with the same color as Ginny Weasley’s hair.

All in all, Draco was impressed. There was an understated casual elegance in the design, and it was obvious that everything was done with the signature passion that all of the Weasleys had. He could easily picture SinSalta as a high-end boutique restaurant in the countryside of Lyon, or in the plaza squares Naples, or the streets of Salzburg, even as far as old Seville. 

Draco patiently watched the Weaslette gather her scattered wits. He himself was trying to reconcile the scene he had just witnessed. The gravity of Egremont’s curse would make him a marked man by the Ministry once the Wand Regulation Department noted his wand's nefarious activities. Not discounting that Ginevra Weasley is the daughter of someone important in the Wizarding World. He wasn't surprised that if the papers got wind of this, many would be screaming for Emory Egremont's blood. He couldn't understand what drove the man to such actions. Even if he was attracted to the Weaslette, why did he chose to use a dark curse? Pushing away those thoughts, he also realized the possibility that the complaints towards his father would be all but dropped if Egremont were caught. He only had to convince Weasley to press charges to the Wizengamot. 

When she finally lifted her head a few moments later to study him, she smiled weakly. “You _are_ Draco Malfoy, are you not?”

“Last time I checked,” he replied dryly, cottoning on her train of thought that he, a Malfoy, had all but rescued her, a Weasley. 

“Well, uh, thank you,” she said at last with a small smile. Draco responded with a nod, as if he too, had some difficulty accepting that he had played hero for a Weasley, no less. 

Ginny licked her dry lips before touching her throat. She winced at the contact with the tender skin. “Would you mind asking Sirius to bring in Harry?” she asked uncomfortably. "He's somewhere near the middle," she nodded behind the counter where a row of small miniature portraits was semi-hidden from view. 

“Do you want to inform your mother or any of your brothers as well?”

“Dear heavens, no!” she said immediately, shaking her head furiously. “Do you have a _death wish_?” she asked wide-eyed, thinking how her brothers would invariably murder her rescuer simply because he was a Malfoy. It was going to be a classic _‘Act now, ask later’_ scenario. She was sure of it. She caught the ironic smile on his lips as if he had read her thoughts once more. “No, no, really, just Harry would be enough,” she added faintly. 

“Do you happen to be connected to the Floo? I have to inform my secretary of my whereabouts,” Draco said in an afterthought. 

“Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry,” Ginny said, mortified. “You don’t need to stay with me—”

“Potter and your brothers will most _definitely_ kill me if I leave you after they learn what just happened to you. And to answer your question a while ago, I most certainly do _not_ have a death wish. Not to mention I don’t fancy having your mother attack me with her copper pans,” Draco interrupted shortly, dismissing her concerns. Ginny’s lips twitched at the image. She resisted pointing out that Draco Malfoy just made a funny comment. 

Not being privy to Ginny’s thoughts, Draco had his own. Weasley or not, he wasn’t about to leave until Potter was within the vicinity and able to care for her. “The Floo?”

“Oh, it’s next to the lavatories,” she replied with a thin smile. 

Moments later, Draco came back with a glass of wine for both of them. She reached for it gratefully before swallowing its contents; she sputtered the contents out, as her throat started to burn once more. 

“Perhaps a glass of water would be better,” Draco muttered. After handing her a water bottle, she slowly sipped the liquid this time. “Better?”

Ginny nodded even though her throat continued to throb. “What was that spell Emory did?” she asked darkly, gently touching her throat once more, already feeling vestiges of bruises starting to form. 

Before Draco had a chance to reply, Harry Potter Apparated outside SinSalta, his eyes scouring the vicinity before resting on Ginny’s form inside the restaurant. Harry’s hair was dripping wet and even with the scrubbed look, he had obviously just grabbed whatever clothing was nearest to him. 

He rushed inside and knelt beside her, giving her a crushing hug before releasing her after hearing her wince slightly. “Are you okay? Sirius was screaming murder in my flat while I was in the shower! What the bloody hell happened?” His eyes rested on Malfoy’s amused ones before standing up. “Malfoy?”

“Don’t touch him,” Ginny said sharply, as if thinking that Harry thought he was the one responsible for her injuries. 

Draco chuckled at the Weasley’s choice of words. “Potter,” he greeted mildly. “The Weaslette had a nasty run-in with Egremont in Knockturn Alley. I found them.”

A hushed silence ensued. “What?”

“Emory attacked me at Knockturn Alley,” Ginny repeated with a sigh. 

Harry’s eyes rested on Ginny’s throat, his jaw dropping at the extent of the bruises that were forming. “He choked you? I’m going to _murder_ him,” Harry said, clenching his fists. “What the hell!” 

“It probably was a bit of my fault,” Ginny admitted. “He was here to order outrageous amounts of pastries for Merlin knows what again, and you know, the usual thing. He was winding me up, and I think I insulted his smaller assets—" Draco choked back a laugh before Harry glared at him to shut up. "I don’t understand how many times I have to tell him that I’m not interested to kill his fascination he has for me!”

“Fascination? Appropriate choice of words you got there. That’s dangerous obsession when I see one, Weasley,” Draco pointing carelessly at her bruised neck. Harry grunted in agreement. 

"We should tell your dad about this," Harry said grimly.

"No!" Ginny protested vehemently. "Harry, dad's going to go mental, you know that!"

"For good reason," Harry reminded her.

"You family has to know, Gin. You cannot not tell them about this. This is dangerous."

"You think I don't know that? You know dad's busy with the campaign, and mom can't have this on top of everything else. And no, you can't tell my brothers either, you know they'll declare blood war with the Egremonts if you do," she said with a groan, already imagining what her brothers would do once they find out. Not that Emory didn't deserve what was coming to him, but she'd rather not make it so public, not when her father was trying to get more support for his Ministerial bid. "Promise me you won't tell them!"

"Okay, okay, I promise I won't," Harry acquiesced. _Well, for now._

“You'll regret that you promised, Potter," Draco smirked at the darker-haired bloke. "Would it put him in Azkaban indefinitely, if I testify that he performed some Dark Curses on the Weaslette?" Harry's eyes narrowed at the new information, glaring at Ginny who looked at him miserably. 

"What curses?"

"Pop quiz, Potter. What curse crushes a person's vocal chords and causes extensive damage? Clue: Dawlish is mute now because of it."

Harry's eyes narrowed further. "I'm going to kill him!" "You already said that," Ginny said exasperatedly. Both men ignored her. 

"He used the _Frendo Voici_ curse on the Weaslette and an attempted _Attero Voici_ ,” Draco added as an afterthought. He got the desired reaction from Potter. 

“He what?” Harry roared out loud, adding a string of choice curses to go with it, surprising the last diner patrons that were leaving. _Attero_ _Voici_ could have severed Ginny's chords instead of simply damaging them if the curse went wrong. Ginny groaned at the murderous quality Harry’s voice took. 

“Disarmed her, her wand lying in front of Gringotts, placed her under the Incarcerous Charm, and performed _Frendo Voici,_ ” Draco enumerated grimly. 

“What’s _Frendo Voici_?” Ginny asked, hoping it would diffuse the blood lust in Harry’s eyes. She was quickly discovering that it might not have been a good idea that Harry knew about this incident, as he was quickly taking on the trademark Weasley color whenever they were enraged. 

Harry sat down next to Ginny and examined her neck. “Swallow for me, love. I need to see how much damage the spell did,” he said, tilting her head backwards, touching her throat gently. “How does it feel?”

“It burns a little,” Ginny admitted. “Is that bad?”

Harry and Draco shared another grim look. “How long was she under the curse before you found her?” Harry stood up and went behind the counter to retrieve Mrs. Weasley’s bevy of assorted medicinal supplies, hoping that she stocked some of Dr. Ubbly’s Oblivious Unction. Finding the purplish-silver bottle, he returned to where Ginny was. 

“About less than a minute,” Draco answered. 

“What’s Frendo—”

“It’s an old dark curse. It’s an appellation of torture spells targeting a person's motor skills meant to completely, in layman’s terms, emaciate the ability of a witch or wizard to perform any magic since it takes away the power of speech,” Draco explained patiently, watching Ginny’s face finally comprehend the magnitude of the curse. 

He also observed the comfortable and trusting manner Potter and the Weaslette interacted. Their closeness was intriguing since it was common knowledge that the two weren’t dating as per the last issue of Witch Weekly, which had been on a speculation frenzy since the year started, declaring that it was to be the year Harry Potter was to get married. It was the most ridiculous piece of trash Draco had picked up in his life, not that he'd ever admit to reading one. He didn’t envy Potter’s overblown sense of popularity in the Wizarding World. 

Harry was carefully applying a small amount of the topical potion on Ginny’s neck, wincing for the girl, as if he was the one who had the injury. Ginny sat still, listening to Draco’s explanation. Slowly, her erratic breathing calmed, and the horrific incident she experienced that afternoon somewhat abated. She suspected the Unction was new, and its effects, quick. 

“If you don’t know how to do wandless magic, Weasley, you can only do so much since you can’t speak. It stops you from casting defensive spells. _Frendo Voici_ is highly illegal; _Attero Voici_ even more so. Both are punishable now by incarceration in Azkaban. Potter and I came across it frequently during the Second War.” Draco wasn’t about to share to them that Lucius had cursed him with it when he was younger. His mother had found him tunelessly crying in pain in his father’s library before reversing the curse. He was able to reverse the curse on the Weaslette because of his mother. 

“Voldemort’s Death Eaters liberally used it during the Siege at Hogwarts. Aside from Dawlish, Hannah Abbott almost didn’t make it when MacNair hit her with the curse. Professor Sinstra was also hit by Yaxley and couldn't speak until a month later. The curse burns your vocal chords slowly. Not to mention that a lot can go wrong when casting the spell, it can destroy different motor skills as well. _Frendo Voici_ crushes them; _Attero Voici_ , on the other hand, obliterates it completely,” Harry finished darkly. “We have to get you to St. Mungo’s now to do a complete battery of tests for any residual magic.”

"But what about the restaurant?" 

"I'm sure Heather can handle it without you here for a while," Harry said, briefly glancing at the assistant coming in from her break and eyeing the trio curiously. 

Harry helped Ginny to her feet. 

He offered his hand to the blond who took it. “Thank you. We, I, owe you for this,” he said seriously. 

“Don’t worry about it, just get the sodding bastard for what he did,” Draco answered. “And inform me when he’s apprehended. I have a small matter to settle with Egremont as well.” He turned to Ginny and gave her a reluctant smile. “I’ll be needing SinSalta to cater for a small dinner party next week. That’s the reason I saw you and Egremont get out of here. I’ll just have my secretary send you the details, if that’s alright?”

“On your way to commission a dinner party, and you get shanghaied into helping me,” Ginny said dryly. “Alright, we’ll wait for it.” She watched as he gave Harry a nod in recognition. “And Malfoy?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” 


End file.
